Breathe Me
by The Honest Politician
Summary: I thought I would feel it when you died. I was surprised, shocked, when I didn't. [Spoilers for those who haven't yet finished DH.]


**Breathe Me**

_By: The Honest Politician_

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_Enjoy life today, yesterday is gone and tomorrow may never come_

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I had thought that I would feel it if you ever died.

I was surprised, shocked, when I didn't.

I only knew of it when I entered the hall we had walked through together so many times. There was a low murmur of talk, far more somber than that enchanted place had heard in many of its years. Long, low sobs entwined within the soft, mournful voices, and it took me a minute to realize they were Mum's. I thought that Percy had died, or Ron, or (god forbid) Ginny. I looked for you, hoping to catch your eye so that I would be warned of who I had lost before I laid eyes on them...

And then, in that horrifying instant, the answer hit me with such brilliant clarity that I was blinded.

There was no eye for me to catch, no familiar face for me to spot, no quick glance of understanding. I was suddenly alone, and all of the sobs and the tired, torn words faded away until there was silence. All I knew was that when they moved, when I approached, it was not Percy or Ron or Ginny I would see lying on the floor.

And I ran to you, as all people do in the end, hoping against hope that you would still be waiting, still be looking for my face, if only to tell me goodbye.

And you weren't.

As Mum wrapped her arms around me, as Ginny sobbed into my shoulder, I was stone. I knew that I should be crying, wailing, pouring out the heart-rending sobs that such an event merited, but I couldn't. They stayed far inside of me, content to tear my heart to shreds as I looked at you there on the floor, silent and still. Your mouth was curved into an empty mockery of your smile, and suddenly I became aware that, for the first time in my life, I was utterly alone.

* * *

Your funeral was horrid. 

I know it sounds terrible for me to say it, but really. The minister was pompous and stuffy, speaking of "honor", "valor", and "brave death in battle". Did he actually think that that was how you wanted to be remembered? As someone who was aloof and a warrior? Not you. Never you.

You were the embodiment of laughter. Mum told us, when we were younger, that we were born with smiles on our faces. We were made to be lovers, not fighters. We were meant to create laughter, to spare the tears and the sadness, to hold them off for another minute, hour, day. You loved to help, to create. Your face lit up when we made someone giggle, your smile brightened when someone told us how wonderful we were.

I didn't want to remember you as you were in that black casket as you were lowered into the ground. I wanted to remember you as I always thought of you: smiling, waving, telling everyone that everything would be alright.

You had told me that before you ran off with Percy.

"I have to go with the git, just to make sure he doesn't get himself killed. Won't Mum be in a state then?" When you saw that it had done nothing to assuage me worry (only you could ever tell), you had attacked me with one of your huge bear hugs. "Quit worrying, you great prat. Everything will be fine."

It wasn't. This wasn't fine. This was anything but fine.

At your funeral, amid all of the hundreds of mourners, in face of God and our family and the stodgy minister, I did not cry. I could not.

* * *

I slept in your bed. 

In our little flat above the shop, you were everywhere. Your handwriting on the accounts, your still-dirty plates in the kitchen sink, your hole-riddled socks..."To match your ear!"

And I crawled home late after the funeral that night, tired and dismal and utterly alone, and I crawled into your bed and until I fell asleep...

I cried.

* * *

When I married, I could not think of only the celebrations. Instead, I thought of you as I danced with my bride. I wondered what you would have said. 

Ron was my best man, but in my mind I called him your name for the entire evening.

* * *

A year later, I had my first son. He had the Weasley hair and the pale skin that would begin to show freckles very soon, I was sure of it. I held him for the first time while my wife slept and the ward in St. Mungo's was quiet, and as I looked at him, he looked up at me and smiled. 

We named him Fred.

* * *

Today I realized that I had never felt you die...because you never died at all. 

Your heart stopped; your brain no longer functioned; but you were still alive.

You stayed inside of me, guiding me gently with a soft light that came with your gentle smile.

My eyes close, and everything goes dark, but only for a moment. When I open them again, I am at Hogwarts, in the Great Hall. It is empty, the tables pushed back, polished and brilliant. The sunshine strikes the ginger hair of one strikingly familar person, and a weight I never knew I had lifted from my heart, taking flight like a bird.

You turn and you smile, and it is just as I remember.

"About time you got here...I was beginning to think you'd forgotten me."

I can do nothing but smile.

_I'm back, Fred. I'm home again._

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A/N This is my first real piece of HP fanfiction, and I was rather unsure about the way I portrayed George...please, constructive critique would be lovely, and even a review telling what you enjoyed about it would be wonderful. 

Thanks so much for reading!


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